The Third War
by The Iron Youth
Summary: The Orcs and Humans have invaded Ashenvale, and in their flight from Azeroth, have brought with them the Undead Scourge and the Burning Legion. With Cenarius murdered, it falls to the Night Elves to muster the forces necessary to repel these enemies, both new and ancient. Follows the events of WC3:RoC, with liberties taken.
1. Disclaimer

**Disclaimer**: The main portion of this story follows the events of Warcraft III: Reign of Chaos. The timeline remains intact. Some of the dialogue is taken verbatim from the game in order to root this story more concretely within the games. However, there are liberties taken in the telling of some evens or descriptions. I have taken into account lore not directly reflected within the game itself, but still welcome comments, critiques, and corrections.

Some graphic depictions of violence may occur.


	2. Daughters of the Moon

The forest had been quiet for ten thousand years, but now the wind carried the scent of decay and corruption. Serane's fingers kept a delicate grip on her nocked arrow as she prowled through the underbrush toward the light of a campfire. She was flanked by two of her elven sisters, Doranna and Kalisse, each on high alert, their steps practiced and silent as they approached the intruder encampment. Two more approached the camp from the opposite side, closing off their escape route. These were not the Tauren of the South. They were bare-skinned and pink, with plated metal armor and a strange tongue. Serane glanced to the both of them, tilting her head indicatively.

Their large ears gave them a hearing advantage, and they all knew that sound. A frostsaber. They leapt from the trees at the same moment that the creature leapt over the crudely-made barricade, it's roar causing the strange two-legged creatures to jump up with shouts of surprise, jerking their swords from scabbards. It did them no good, as they each found arrows buried in the junctions of their armor.

"Elune-adore, Priestess," Serane stepped forward, her bow lowered as she tilted her head toward the frostsaber's rider. "We are yours."

The look of relief that spread over Tyrande's face was telling. She had no escorts, and looked as though she had just fled from a battle. "Elune be with you, sisters," she said, her voice clear and strong as ever. "Come, we must reach the outpost. I will explain once we have reached safety." Tyrande's words set the group on edge, where they had previously been confident whatever intruders they would encounter would be easily dealt with.

It wasn't long before they encountered another group of humans, but before they could clear the area, a group of shambling monstrosities appeared behind them, limping out from the forest. They were the source of the wretched scent that permeated the forest, and the pink creatures gave a shout of alarm once more. The elves dropped back, blending themselves into the shadows to watch as the clash ensued. The monsters appeared to be in the same proportion as the others, but the flesh had fallen from their bones, leaving behind nothing but a few rags. There was no mistaking that they had ceased to live long ago. They tore at the armor of the pink-skins, seeming to relish the destruction, but their frenzied actions were no match for the trained soldiers. They were all decapitated quickly, their fetid bones falling to stain the soil.

Tyrande sprung forward, her bow raised, and the rest of her archers did the same. The metal-clad creatures turned, clearly intending to flee with their shields covering their escape. "Foolish humans," she cried, "you cannot escape the goddess' wrath!" The humans' metal shields were raised this time, making them impervious to the arrows. Realizing that another volley of arrows would be futile, Tyrande lifted her arm, summoning starlight itself to destroy their encampment in a blaze of blue-purple starfire.

"Clearly the humans have no love for the undead, but I dare not trust them," the Priestess said as she urged her mount forward into the wreckage, looking at the bodies. It wasn't pity or regret in her eyes. Confusion, perhaps. These creatures were all intruders, and all had to die.

"They do not belong here, no matter their allegiance," Serane said. There was a murmur of agreement as they surveyed the small area, taking in their rudimentary tents and barricades. None of it had helped. They moved forward, staying in the shadows, hiding themselves in the moonlight. They came across a large encampment of green-skinned creatures. All of the intruders seemed to be of odd colors. It was far too large of a group for their small team to have a hope of destroying at the moment, so they passed.

A few yards beyond the settlement, and a patrol appeared from the shadows, their black mounts in stark contrast to Tyrande's. "Elune be with you, Priestess," their leader said as they tilted their head in reverence to Tyrande. "Be wary; the doomguards command shades that can see us even when we meld with the shadows, and we have not been able to best the demon ourselves. We best stay away from them."

Tyrande nodded in turn, turning her silver eyes toward the path in front of them. The land itself was corrupted, cracked and gray, most of the grass already missing, and what was left a sickly brown. The trees bordering the area were dying already as well, their remaining leaves and needles a fetid green. The mere sight churned Serane's stomach, and the smell did not nothing to help. "Come. We must pass before sunrise," Tyrande said, urging her saber forward at a slow pace.

The Doomsguard were fearsome monsters, tall as treants with blood-red skin, expansive wings of black leather, and hooved feet. The blades they carried were larger than the elves themselves and glowed with green hellfire. They patrolled the open paths, snorting and stomping, their steps shaking the ground. "Sisters," Tyrande whispered, her voice blending with the sound of the trees. "Who among you has the longest shot?" Serane stepped forward, nocking an arrow as she did so. Tyrande pointed to a shadowed figure that appeared to be little more than smoke, but bore a pair of glowing red eyes. "I will bless your shot so that Elune herself might smite this foul creature."

Serane lifted her bow, putting her arrowhead within reach of Tyrande, whose hand glowed as she performed the magic. The glow transferred to the arrowhead, which burned with purple light as Serane drew back and measured the wind. The smoke creature turned, and she felt it's eyes settle on her, causing her hair to prickle.

"Ah hah!" An unnaturally deep and snarled voice sounded, and the whistle of a blade rang in Serane's ears, allowing her to release her shot and dive away just moments before the cruelly curved instrument came whirling down to where she had been standing. "Hellfire!" The demon cursed, swinging its blade without aim in an attempt to find her by sheer luck. Serane sucked in breath as she hunkered down, now more prey than predator, but the shade was dead, and the monstrosity's eyes could no longer find the elves in the dark.

They continued along for what seemed to be an eternity before they reached an ancient gate in the trees. It appeared to have been able to keep the demons at bay, as the grass beneath the gate itself was still vibrant and green. With Tyrande keeping watch, the archers parted the gates just wide enough to slip through, only to have half a dozen arrows lodge in the wood of the gate as a warning. "Who goes there?" a lyrical voice demanded.

"Good fortune to your families," Tyrande said as her saber strode through the gate, which was promptly closed behind the rest of the group. "It is I, Tyrande." An almost palpable release of tension passed through the defending archers, and their bows lowered.

"Thank Elune. We were scouting when we came across-" here the woman faltered for words. "I do not even know what to call it. The land itself is rotting, the undead are bleeding toxins into the soil in order to allow the expansion of their encampment. It seems they can not thrive on living land."

"That is a good observation. Show me this encampment," Tyrande instructed.

Free from the threat of the Doomsguard, and with a larger force than before, the group could move more quickly over the trails, and much more bravely. As they approached the settlement, the air once again took on a sickly stench that burned at their throats, and the verdant grass gave way to gray, crumbling soil. The undead creatures shambled about, ignorant of the elves. They tore at trees, ancient beings that had quickly succumbed to the poison.

"By Elune," Tyrande said, lifting a hand to point at a floating structure. "We must destroy them."

"My lady, are we strong enough?" One of the archers stepped forward. "Perhaps we should rally troops from the outpost."

"The outpost is too far, and they may be under attack as well. There are some old ballistas hidden nearby. Perhaps they would be enough to launch an assault?" Serane offered, and the collection of archers that had joined with her nodded.

Tyrande thought for a moment. "Will five of you be enough to collect them?"

"We will need one more," Doranna said.

"Go with them," Tyrande looked to one of the other archers before looking at Sarene. "Take your archers, retrieve the ballistas and bring them to us. Go to the outpost," she spoke now to a rider. "Tell them we are near. If they can spare us any aid, return with it."

The group of archers, now six, split off from the main group as the mounted elf bounded off, skirting the rotting soil.

* * *

><p>The ballistas were hidden only a few hundred yards from where Tyrande waited for their return. But the wooden machines were heavy and cumbersome, and even with two elves pushing each, it took a short while to wheel them into position. Glancing at the sky, Serane estimated the time to sunrise, and was not relieved. The rest of the archers joined them, hunching around the ballistas as though they would provide better cover than the shadows.<p>

"Tyrande will signal the begin of the attack with a burning arrow. The ballistas are to aim for the flying building first, to try and draw out the enemy soldiers. We are to defend them, and provide what cover we can for the riders. They will move into the encampment and destroy what they can," one of the newcomers said.

"Load the ballistae," Serane instructed. The machines had been built for ease of reloading, but it still took time for the large javelins to be moved into position, and to take proper aim. Serane watched as three elves pulled on the winch of their own ballista, the sound of the firing mechanism being pulled into place, producing a biting, metal sound. "Ready?" She asked, looking to the other teams, each of which nodded in turn. She turned then, to Tyrande in the distance, who was watching the undead astride her saber.

The Priestess' silver eyes turned, watching the archers to determine their readiness before lifting her bow, its arrow lit with starfire, and drawing back. The _twang_ of her bowstring could be heard across the distance, and the projectile arced through the air, sinking into the side of a wooden wagon with blood-encrusted blades jutting out of the front. The dry wood quickly caught fire, and the enemy poured forth.

"Fire!" The ballistae fire mechanisms were released with a sharp snap, and the javelins were hurled up and forward toward the floating building with a deep, heaving _whoosh_. Almost immediately, the act of reloading perforated the air with more sharp clangs as Serane and the other free archers nocked arrows. Though there were only a handful of archers, their volley of arrows were well-aimed, and took out a number of monstrosities, the power of their bows shattering skulls with ease.

"May our enemies beware!" Tyrande cried as her mounted elves charged forward, their swords drawn. The shambling corpses were little match for the agile sabers, whose paws and fangs aided in the battle, crushing bone just as easily. The javelins continued to hurtle toward the floating building, knocking large chunks of rubble from the sky, which crashed down onto the undead, wreaking further havoc.

In Serane's experience, battles did not often go so easily, and the pit that formed in her stomach wrenched as she heard the pained screams of one of her own, accompanied by the roar of her saber. Another voice could be heard, jarring and garbled words pouring forth as it shambled into view.

It was a large, corpulent creature of dead-white flesh that appeared to have been sewn together. It dragged a large, evil hook covered in crusted and coagulated blood behind it, the other hand carrying a cleaver, bulging eyes and gaping mouth only adding to the revolting whole. Its rotting arm pulled back, preparing to swing and scattering the riders. "Archers!" Tyrande called out, and they responded, aiming for the creature's body. Half a dozen arrows did nothing, and it swung its hook, nearly catching another rider, but her saber leapt out of the way. Tyrande herself fired as well, her arrow catching one of its eyes and splitting it open, allowing a wretched fluid to seep out as it wailed in pain. Another volley of arrows and it staggered backward, roaring as the hand clutching a cleaver lifted, clearly intending to throw the rusted weapon. Another rider leapt forward, blade cutting clean through the pasty flesh and bone. The arm fell, and the creature let out another guttural sound before another flurry of arrows found their mark. Rather than falling back again, however, it swung its chain over its head, gaining momentum before bringing it back down to smash into a rider, throwing her from her saber.

"Incoming!" Serane's eyes returned to the space in front of her to find the undead, new monsters, their bodies fresher, loping towards herself and the other archers. They stumbled as the archers took aim for them, but their bones were not so brittle, and they were more agile as their corpses had not lost as much tissue, as many ligaments. Serane ground her teeth and drew her blade, as did Doranna and Kalisse. They could not destroy the ballistae before the flying building was destroyed.

The undead were smaller than the elves, but their bone structure varied, indicating that both the humans and the green-skinned creatures had been taken by the curse, but they would all die the same. She swung across, into the skull of one of the attackers, her height giving her a significant reach advantage, as the monstrosities claws were not able to reach her armor. Another, however, leapt, and as she was dislodging her sword from bone, she did not have time to catch it before she was taken down. Its rotting teeth gnashed in the air, inches from her flesh, and its clawed fingers tore at her armor and exposed flesh, before an arrow shattered its skull, fetid brain threatening to spill out onto her before Serane could finally throw its body aside. She scrambled up, blade in hand again, slashing at the other corpses, taking out arms and legs as she could. Arrows continued to fly, the archers' aim keeping Serane and the other sword-wielding fighters safe.

Their skirmish resolved, Serane turned back to the hulking monstrosity, to see a saber, claws buried deep within its puckered flesh, tearing it apart with unrelenting ferocity. She looked back up to the floating building now, most of its base completely destroyed, laying in a pile of rubble at is base. "Look out!" One of the elves manning the ballistae shouted as one last javelin slammed into the center of the base and the entire structure shuddered before collapsing down. The mounted riders bounded away, and as the smoke from the collapse cleared, they slaughtered the remaining undead.

With the battle resolved, Tyrande once again nocked an arrow, standing in the center of the encampment. "Come, sisters," she said, summoning her other riders, each of whom drew their own bow. "This place must burn," she shared her starfire with the others, and each took aim at a building. The archers moved what they could of the undead back into the center of the area, lighting their rotting corpses ablaze as well, in addition to the corpulent monstrosity. It was the only way to purify their toxins.

"Collect our wounded," Tyrande demanded, her voice solemn as she stared at the blaze, "And let us be rid of this place. The sun has almost risen, and we must reach the river before dawn breaks."

With the wounded on sabers, they left the blaze behind, knowing the damp, still-living forest surrounding it would not allow the fire to spread much further. Thankfully, the outpost was close, and the river only a few hundred yards from there.


	3. The Awakening of Stormrage

Even before they could see the outpost, they could smell the smoke, and while they immediately understood the urgency, with their wounded, they could not move too quickly for fear of leaving them exposed.

They rounded the last corner of the path, the outpost only yards away, and Tyrande bounded forward to make sure there was no danger, entering the edge of the settlement before waving to the rest of her companions. "Tyrande!" A voice called out, "Thank Elune you've made it!" Another elf trotted over, her armor stained and her quiver low. "The undead attacked out our village without warning!"

"Good fortune to your family, Shandris," Tyrande said, greeting the woman. Her eyes turned to the burning buildings, which the few left uninjured were helpless to save. "We have a greater problem. The undead were sent here by the Burning Legion, our ancient enemies of old. Against such might we have only one option. We must awaken the druids."

There was an immediate, dreadful hush over the area as the other elves stopped. Most of them remembered the War of Ancients, the near hopeless situation. "Gather yourselves. We must not stay longer than absolutely necessary. Get your wounded on any sabers you have. The rest of us shall walk," Tyrande said, stepping down from her own mount, freeing it for transport.

* * *

><p>Tyrande stood over ramshackle table in the center of the newest encampment, a map pressed across its top. There were no buildings, those would take too long, and with the intruders on the move, ancient treants were the only thing resembling structures that they had with them. The old creatures groaned as they moved somberly through the woods, their bark creaking and cracking. It was likely that many of them had not moved for centuries. Some of them had already sent down roots, intent on not moving again for some time.<p>

"With Cenarius dead, it falls to us to awaken the druids. We must recover the demigod's horn from the sacred Moonglade Isle. Only its clarion call can awaken the druids from their slumber." Tyrande's slender hand slid from the spot on the map that indicated their position to the isle, expression thoughtful.

"But Priestess, the orcs have established a crude settlement upon the isle. We'll need to fight our way through them to reach Cenarius' horn!" Shandris shook her head, her own finger tapped at the edge of the isle, indicating the spot she was speaking of. Tyrande frowned, looking up to say something, but she was interrupted by arrival of a mounted patrol, their sabers bounding into the clearing.

"Priestess Tyrande, thank Elune we found you. The undead are advancing upon the nearby Barrow Dens! The Dens seem abandoned, but-" Their leader adjusted herself uncomfortably, clearly anxious.

"There is one druid sleeping within them, sister. Furion Stormrage. He is the wisest and most powerful of all the druids. He must be warned that the Legion has returned." Tyrande's expression hardened and she turned from her map. "We must destroy the orcs. It is the quickest way."

"Then we'd better hurry. If the undead overtake his Den before he's awakened-"

"Tyrande," Sarene called, looking down at the map. The Priestess paused before returning to the makeshift table. "If I take a team of hunters along this path, we will be able to reach the side of the village, and divide their forces." Tyrande watched as Sarene's finger traced a narrow trail.

"You have a sharp eye," Tryande nodded, "Take the archers that you will, I will send some hunters with you, as well. May Elune guide your hand, Sister."

Sarene nodded, picking up her quiver and bow before trotting toward the other archers. The path was narrow, and there was no telling the exact geography of where it opened into the camp, but she would need enough to prevent any orcs from being able to engage them in close-quarter fights. The main force would go with Tyrande and break through the front lines. If they were lucky, they would keep any defenders from the other side of the camp from being able to reinforce them. She motioned to the group and ten broke off, gathering their weapons without hesitation as three mounted hunters padded over. Sarene thought for a moment. "How high do your sabers jump?"

The three hunters glanced at each other at the question, unsure of her meaning.

"Let us make haste, my sisters! All our hopes rest on Furion's awakening!"

* * *

><p>Sarene crouched at the edge of the orc camp. It was nearly a village. The green brutes were surprisingly fast builders, though their structures appeared to mostly be dug-outs with leather roofing, which certainly made the process easier. Many of their buildings were guarded with large spikes, which might make assault easier if mere destruction was the goal. What appeared to be bunkers, perhaps their dwellings, appeared to be scattered about, but it was easy to see their placement was strategic. The orcs would run there if under duress, and from there, defend themselves. But that would only make them easier targets for the ballistae.<p>

Kalisse nudged Sarene's knee with her hand before motioning upwards. She squinted, unsure of what she was looking at. It had the body of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, and large wings. It appeared to be carrying a rider. They had waited for nightfall, so the patrol would be useful only against the undead. Sarene turned to the rest of her archers, motioning to the creature. "We must take the winged creatures out first. They will be the most danger to Tyrande and the hunters, and we will be the most danger to them." There were several nods of assent, and Sarene glanced at the hunters behind her, watching as they watched the strange animals in flight. She nocked an arrow in preparation.

There was a roar, the sound of a saber signifying the start of the battle. The sky-borne monstrosity swerved in mid-air, changing its trajectory. Sarene drew her bowstring and released, the arrow zipping through the sky and finding its mark in the beast's throat, causing it to drop from the sky, its rider falling with it. The sounds of a clash could be heard, despite the distance, and it wasn't long before more sky monsters could be seen. Serane crept forward, toward the village, the rest of her archers behind her as they searched the skies for more flying creatures.

They were interrupted by a group of mounted orcs, these land-bound on large wolves. The whisper of an arrow sounded, and one of the wolves howled, the shot having found its mark in his eye. The group stopped and turned as more arrows came their way, but their fearless mounts charged forward, and the archers were only able to take down two, the three others still running.

It was then that another roar sounded, this much closer, and the archers dropped to allow the hunters to leap over them. The surprise was clear in the wolves, who stopped, their riders surprised for just enough time for the large cats to crash onto them, crushing the wolves and allowing their riders to slice the orc-riders to ribbons. "Go," Sarene motioned forward, and once satisfied that the wolves were not getting back up, the three hunters bounded away, deeper into the encampment. There were more flying orcs, and Serane took to shooting them down. Aiming for them was difficult, and some were still too high to reach, but they could not fly forever. The sound of flames reached Serane's ears. The settlement had been set ablaze, and as predicted, the orcs ran back to their low-lying homes, using the horizontal slats to aim their own weapons at the attackers. The hunters were going to back off when a strange orc appeared, sweeping aside the entrance flap to the large, central building.

He was taller than the rest, and wore no armor on his upper body. The tusks protruding from his lower jaw were longer, and he wore a banner. He meant to draw attention to himself. He scowled toward Tyrande and her fellows, and then to Serane and hers. There was a moment where his body flickered, and he split into three, causing Serane to recoil. One strode toward Tyrande's forces, confidence in every stride. The other two headed toward the archers.

Serane stepped back, "Sisters!" She called, drawing their attention toward the strange orc. Serane nocked and drew, aiming for him. They fired collectively, all able to identify the doubles as more threatening than any of the other orcs. One of the doubles spun, the same type of magic that allowed him to triple himself allowing him to sidestep the arrows, while the other continued to stride forward, albeit at a much slower pace, arrow shafts shooting out from his chest. The archers stepped back, and Serane felt desperate start to gather in her stomach, unsure of what kind of creature they were facing. They fired another volley, and one staggered, sinking to his knees, but the other continued to advance.

Serane drew her blade, knowing her chances were slim, but seeing no other option. If she could hold him in the same spot for long enough for the other archers to sink enough arrows into him, they might at least have a chance. She wet her lips as she readied her sword. The orc stopped, several yards from her, his large sword polished and threatening. He let out a low, heavy laugh that set Sarine on edge. He said something, his voice hoarse and grating, his words indecipherable as he motioned to the scabs on her face. His hands gripped the hilt of his blade as Sarene's archers focused on the second of him.

The orc lunged, large sword grazing the air very near her side as Serane sidestepped, bringing herself close enough to swing at his unprotected torso, only to have him twist away. She did not let up, hearing the sharp _twang_ of bowstrings as her archers fired shots, and hoping that they would deal with the other quickly enough.

He jerked as an arrow sank into his bicep, but he broke the shaft of with a grunt, but the pause was enough, and Serane leapt forward, her sword slicing deep into the flesh of his side. He roared and caught her arm with one hand, flinging her off to the side and against a tree in his rage. He jerked the blade out as well, causing deep red blood to pulse out of the wound. The fury on his face was unmistakable, and Serane scrambled to her feet, snatching a dagger from her hip. It was much shorter, too short to be effective without putting herself in significant danger. But her initial wound was wearing on him, and he was losing a significant amount of blood with every beat of his heart. His grip on his sword weakened as another arrow buried its head in his calf and he fell to a knee. Seeing her final chance, she lunged, driving her dagger into the top of his skull. Jerking the blade back out, she picked up her sword and cleaned both on the orc's pants.

Before she could turn back to her archers, a dryad burst forth from the forest, her four legs prancing anxiously, and her large, doe-y eyes wide with concern. "Are we being invaded?" She asked, earnest.

* * *

><p>Another invader settlement burned, and another victory, but it still left more elves injured, unable to fight. Luckily, Tyrande had sent out more scouts to search for more pockets of elves, knowing that they would need their full, concentrated strength if they were to take on the Legion once more. A small number of elves had been able to reach them, and the dryads were coming forth as well.<p>

The assault on the isle itself was an entirely different matter, however. The death of Cenarius had resulted in the creation of three aspects that now patrolled the area, hostile even to the elves Cenarion himself had once helped. There was no choice but to destroy them, as well. But it was the dryads who would have to carry out this task, as they were invulnerable to the magic the aspects wielded.

Sarene's body was already aching from the fight with the large orc, but there was no rest. The undead were closer to Stormrage with every passing minute. Once the druids had been awakened, then perhaps she could pause. The archers had reclaimed what arrows they could, though most had been splintered, shattered, or their heads dislodged. Many dryads had brought their own stores in addition to the spears they preferred, and it was much appreciated. She dropped a sheaf into her quiver, pulling a single arrow out to test its balance. The shaft was straight, and the fetching even. The dryads did good work.

"Are your archers ready?" Tyrande padded over on her saber, looking Serane over with a critical eye as she nodded. "Were you injured in battle?"

"No, priestess." Serane answered, straightening. Tyrande gave one last overview before turning away to lead the charge. Serane swung her quiver onto her shoulder and checked the arrows on her belt before rejoining the other archers, each of whom had gathered their own supplies from the dryads.

"Will our arrows be able to subdue the aspects?" Doranna asked, frowning at the thought.

"I do not think so," Serane said. "But there are owlbears on the island as well, and they will not take our intrusion without offense. The dryads will lead this charge."

"Surely they can sense the change in the forest," Kalisse said, objecting.

"I do not like the idea either, but the corruption may have driven them mad. They may not know us as they once did." There solemn nods all around. None of them enjoyed taking the lives of the forest creatures with such mindless frenzy. "And if they stand between us and Stormrage, we have no choice. Come, Sisters."

Serane nodded in the direction of the horn. Following the dryads, it wasn't long before they came in sight of a ghostly red creature, wreathed in flames. It appeared as Cenarius once had, a tall, horned centaur with what appeared to be live growth around his four ankles. As its red eyes fell on them, it said nothing, only stamping one of its hooves. But this was not her fight, and Serane watched as the dryads bounded forward, their magic-tipped spears twirling as they let out a battle cry.

Another howl sounded, and the owl bears lumbered forward from their dens. Their mottled brown feathers were puffed up to make themselves appear larger as their beady eyes settled on the attackers. The largest of them let out a wavering howl as its short legs carried it forward. The dryads were nimble enough to dodge their flat, heavy paws, and the archers drew back their bows and released, heavy-tipped arrows striking deep into the creatures' fat-protected flesh. They all howled in pain now, their beaks nearly foaming. They drew again, firing another volley. A smaller, younger owlbear collapsed, and Serane felt a pang of regret, but it was unavoidable. This only served to further enrage the elder monsters, who had not stopped their charge. The hunters came in next, their sabers bounding toward the owlbears. They, at least could match the other animals in size and ferocity, and they had much stronger armor than the archers themselves.

The snarls and claws made the battle suddenly double in noise, and the wails of the owlbears were nearly unbearable. But without their death, there was no hope for the rest of forest. Serane relaxed her bow as the large cats tore into the owlbears. The dryads had moved on from the flaming aspects to two others. Their spears made short work of the last two guardians, and the two aspects collapsed in on themselves, the magic barrier around the horn falling away as well. "At last, the horn of Cenarius! Now we can awaken Furion!" Tyrande bounded toward the pedestal that held Cenarius' curved horn and lifted it to her lips, giving a strong blow.

The sound was deep, resonating out from Tyrande, and it almost felt as though it vibrated the very fiber of the forest itself. Everything became still as death, the noises of even the birds and other animals dying out in moments. There was a thunderous tearing of trees, and from where they were, they could see a large section of trees coming to life under the druid's powerful magic.

Remaining on the isle, it took Stormrage a short time to make the journey toward them, his robed form appearing from the trees with all the due mysticism, small saplings following behind him. "The horn has sounded, and I have come, as promised! I smell the stench of decay and corruption in our land that angers me greatly," he said, his voice settling heavily over the gathered Elves.

Tyrande's head bowed, as if she was unsure how to deliver the news. "The Legion is back, Furion. Archimonde has returned."


End file.
